The Beloved (22 page)

Eli persuaded Ernest Wraith to come with him, and to bring a couple of strong men from the mill. ‘But you must promise me your discretion,' Eli had said. ‘Your absolute discretion.'

They arrived in Spaxton in time to take lunch at the Lamb Inn. ‘So you have decided, I see,' said the landlord gruffly, as he placed jars of ale in front of them. ‘Best of luck to you then, I say.'

After they had eaten their fill of the landlord's finest beef pie, Eli took the men for a walk around the walls of the Abode. ‘You see,' he said to them, ‘the only way in is through these two gates, or over the walls. But the landlord has informed me that Prince's carriage has not left its home for a couple of days now. So if we are lucky, we should catch the gates opening at some point tomorrow. We shall post ourselves in the lane from dawn, and as soon as the gates open, we shall rush in.'

As they walked back to the inn, the chapel bells began to ring out, and Eli thought of Alice. Poor Alice, a prisoner behind those great walls. If only there were some way of letting her know he was there, of letting her know that her ordeal was almost over. He was struck by a sharp thrill.
This is what life should be about
, he thought.
Adventures
. Not following a dry old man like Wraith around a dusty mill all day, or placating a demanding mother. Eli felt like a hero and before he could stop himself, he rushed to the gates and began to shout, ‘Alice! Alice! I'm here, Alice!' His only answer was a snarling and a scrabbling of great claws as the bloodhounds jumped at the gates.

If Eli had not run from the barking and the snarling like some frightened deer, if he had just waited a few minutes more, he would have seen the smaller of the two gates open very slowly. He would have seen a pretty, freckle-faced girl creep out onto the lane, and he could have entered the Abode without any trouble at all. But by the time Beth had closed the gate behind her, Eli was back at the bar of the Lamb Inn, drinking a small brandy to calm his nerves.

Later that night he comes to my bed. ‘My bride,' he slurs as he climbs in beside me. I smell the drink on his breath and the stale reek of his sweat. God shouldn't smell like that. I lie there stiffly, waiting for the touches that I know will come. My insides shrivel. He puts his hand on me. He runs it over my breasts and belly. I bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming. But then his hand stills. It lies there, heavy on my thigh. His breathing deepens and I dare to hope he has fallen asleep.

Then he is snoring and grunting and he fills the bed with the stench of his wind. I lie there all night, not daring to move. I would rather a sleepless night than have him wake.

When the first pale light of morning seeps into the room, I slide quietly from the bed. He has kicked off the blankets and I see he is naked. I look down at him, at his face squashed into the pillow and at the white roll of his belly slumped over the soft worm of his manhood. I want to laugh out loud. Beth was right. Of course he is not God.

He is just a pitiful man.

It is wet and gloomy today. I watch from the window of my chamber as the wind whips sheets of rain across the lawns and over the wall to the lane outside. I finish my tea but I leave the buttered toast on its plate. Because even though I am empty, I have no appetite.

I think of Beth and I hope she has found somewhere safe to be. I wish with all my being that I had been able to go with her. But I know that is one wish that will never come true. She is long gone. But all the same, I wish good things for her. I wish for her to find happiness.

I make a wish for myself too. It is a foolish wish really, because I know it is too late for me. With Mrs Holloway breathing down my neck at every turn, there is no chance of escape. There is no miracle left that will free me from this place. I have made my bed. But I keep wishing for freedom nonetheless, because there is still a tiny part of me that believes I can make it happen.

Our Beloved is to travel to Bristol today and to my relief he is taking Ruth with him and not me. They will be gone for two days at least. He has left me a pile of sermon notes to write up for him. ‘You are more use to me here, than out on the road,' he said.

I wonder if this will be my life now, hours and hours spent writing down words that I don't believe, or even understand. I have nothing left now and I don't want to feel this empty forever. So maybe if I write for long enough, I think, for a year or even two, maybe the words will seep into my brain and organise themselves into some meaning. Then maybe one day I will believe again and I will have something to live for.

I watch as the carriage rolls towards the gates. Poor Agatha and Ruth. Even their oilskins will not keep them dry in this weather. The gates are opened and the horses nose into the lane.

Then something strange happens. The horses stop, half in and half out of the gates. For a moment I think he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants me with him after all. My heart twists into a tight knot. But then I see four figures running into the grounds. I press my face to the window. The figures are men and I see that two of them have thick sticks in their hands. They are waving them at the bloodhounds to try and keep them at bay. The women have all emerged from the cottages now and they are running towards the men. I hear their angry shouts.

One of the men breaks loose and he is sprinting towards the mansion. He is shouting too. I lift the catch on the window and push it open. Rain spatters on my face, but I hear him clearly now.

My heart stops.

‘Alice! Alice! Alice!' I step back from the window, not quite believing what I have seen. Is it really Eli down there? Eli calling my name? Has he come to free me? Has my wish come true?

I dare to look again, but all I can see is a confusion of bodies. The women have surrounded him. They are pushing and pulling him, back towards the gates. ‘Eli!' I call out of the window, ‘Eli! I'm coming!' I look frantically around the chamber, trying to remember where the carpet bag is. There. Under the chair at the foot of the bed. I pull it open and scrabble inside until my hand closes on the gold locket. With shaking hands I clip it around my neck, then I slam open the chamber door and fly along the corridor and down the stairs.

‘Leave my brother alone!' I shout as I run out to the lawns. ‘Leave him be!'

‘Out  …  Out  …  Out  … ' they are all chanting. ‘Out  …  Out  …  Out.'

I push my way through, not caring who I scratch or bruise. The rain is running down my face and into my mouth. ‘Eli,' I gasp. ‘Eli.' I finally reach him and I grab hold of his hand.

‘Oh my god, Alice,' he cries. ‘What have you got yourself into?'

‘STOP! STOP THIS NOW!'

A powerful voice sails over all of our heads and suddenly the skirmish stops and quietness descends. We turn to the voice and there is Our Beloved, standing on the steps of the carriage with the bloodhounds prowling around his feet.

Eli pulls me towards the gates. The other men are already standing out in the lane, panting fast and adjusting their dishevelled jackets.

‘
WAIT
!' Our Beloved holds out his hand to me. ‘Who is this, Alice?' he asks.

‘Don't answer him,' Eli hisses. ‘Come on. Let's go.'

‘Where are you going, Alice? You don't want to leave us, do you?'

I look at Our Beloved as Eli drags me out into the lane. I watch as his lips form the words that are coming out of his mouth. I push Eli away. I want to do this on my own.

‘Alice!' Eli shouts. ‘Don't. Don't go back!'

‘Alice,' says Our Beloved, as I walk towards him. ‘You know you belong here. Come back inside now, so we can shut the gates.'

‘No, Alice,' yells Eli.

‘Come,' says Our Beloved. ‘Come, my spirit bride. We are all here for you.'

I look back to Eli. ‘Come home, Alice,' he says, sounding suddenly exhausted. ‘I have missed you so much.'

I turn again towards Our Beloved, and all I can see is the ugliness of him. There is no shining God, no saviour, no divine being. He is just a man. A mortal man named Henry Prince.

Mrs Holloway walks to his side. Her eyes are spitting flames at me. I step back into the grounds of the Abode while Eli shouts warnings from behind me. I walk straight to Mrs Holloway and I slap her hard, right across her face. Her buttonhole mouth splits wide open. ‘You know what that is for,' I say. Then I run back to Eli and grab his hand again.

‘Come on!' I yell. ‘Take me home!' Then we are both running, as fast as we can, down the lane towards the carriage that is pulled up outside the Lamb Inn.

The air inside the carriage is heavy with the sound of panting as Eli and I try to catch our breath. I am surprised to see Mr Wraith sitting across from us, but I notice at once that he cannot bear to look at me. He sits as far away from me as the cramped interior will allow. But I don't care. I am exhilarated. I cannot sit still.

The miracle happened. It happened for
me
. My wishes meant something after all. I am not lost any more. I wriggle around on my seat so much, anyone would think I had fallen in a clump of nettles.

‘How did you find me?' I ask, as soon as I can speak again.

Eli clears his throat. ‘It was Sarah,' he says. ‘She saw you being driven through the gates of that place. I didn't want to believe her at first, only I thought I had seen you too, in Bath, in the company of that  …  that Henry Prince. Did he kidnap you, Alice? Is that what happened?'

I don't know what to tell him. What will he think of me if I tell him the truth? If I tell him that I chose to go there? The bubbles of happiness that have been fizzing around inside me begin to burst.

Mr Wraith takes a handkerchief from his top pocket and blows his nose loudly. Eli glances at him and then, as if he has sensed my discomfort, he puts his arm gently around my shoulders. ‘It's all right,' he says. ‘You can tell me all about it when we get home. You can tell me how they came to kidnap you. You will be perfectly safe back at Lions House. And when we get there you can tell me everything  …  But perhaps we had better spare Mama the details.'

I look at him sharply. ‘Does she know you have found me?' I ask. ‘Does she know where I have been and that you are bringing me home?'

The guilt that flashes across his face tells me all I need to know.

Eli turns and looks out of the window. ‘Mama will be happy to see you,' he says eventually. ‘I must tell you, Alice. She has missed you so much.'

A scornful laugh bursts out of my mouth and I try to disguise it as a cough. The idea that Mama would ever miss me fills me with such a mixture of pain and amusement that Eli has to slap me on the back to stop me from choking.

The carriage rattles on, shaking my bones, and Eli begins to tell me of his plans. ‘Once you are home, Alice, and have settled yourself, of course, well, I should like to go abroad for a while. Paris. Rome. You know. Oh, and you must remember not to breathe a word to anyone about where you have been these past months. We will put it about that you've been with relatives. People can choose to believe us or not  …  Mama needs you, you see. A mother needs a daughter close by, don't you think? And with you at home again, I shall be free to travel.' He smiles at me broadly. ‘And don't worry,' he says. ‘If you behave yourself, Alice, I am sure she will forget any idea she may have had of an
asylum
.'

He whispers this last word as though it is so dirty he cannot bear to have it on his tongue.

‘And you will behave, won't you, Alice? After all  …  being where you have just been  …  I am sure you would not like to go anywhere like that again.'

On he goes. Yapping away like some stupid puppy. But I am not listening any more. I know the truth of why he came to my rescue now; it was for his own sake and not for mine. In a strange way the realisation gladdens me. It is as though his selfishness has set me free and an astounding thought occurs to me. I do not want to go back to Lions House, to the place I used to call home. But I do not want to go back to the Abode either. I don't need Mama and Eli, and I certainly don't need Henry Prince. They might need me for their own twisted reasons but I don't need any of them. How blind I have been. I thought there were only two choices, but there is a world of choice out there and it is time for me to find my way now.

I pull down the carriage window and lean my head out. ‘Stop!' I yell to the driver. ‘Stop the carriage.' The racket of skidding hooves and screeching wheels flies in through the open window.

‘What on earth are you doing, Alice?' Eli's eyebrows are arched in panic.

‘I just need a little air,' I say.

‘But we are almost home,' he complains. ‘Can't you wait?'

‘I'm afraid not,' I say. I open the carriage door and jump to the ground.

‘Will you be long?' asks Eli. He sighs and leans back in his seat. I reach up and push the carriage door shut.

‘I will be as long as it takes, dear brother. As long as it takes.'

Then I pick up my skirts and I run. I run as fast as I have ever run. I don't know where I am going just yet. But I know that I will end up somewhere. And somewhere is better than nowhere. The rains pours down, my skirts slap against my legs, Papa's gold locket bounces at my throat  …  and I run and run and run.

I wish to be happy!
I shout at hedges and trees and empty fields.
I only wish to be happy!
And the wind picks up my wish and whips it high into the sky and carries it away to the place where dreams come true.

I am soaked to the skin. But the rain has stopped now, at least, and I have found a lane to walk along. My skirts are thick with wet mud from the fields I first ran through. The rain has got into my boots too, and they are rubbing on my heels. I will have to stop soon and find somewhere to rest.

But this lane seems to lead nowhere. It is just endless hedges and puddles. I walk fast, even though my heels are stinging and the soles of my feet are burning. I am impatient to get to where I am going. I just don't know
how
to get there yet.

It came to me just after I had shouted my wish across the fields. It was as though the wind had heard my cry and blown the answer back to me.
I have been here before
, I thought,
running across this countryside; running away from myself and a life I do not want
. These could be the same fields I ran through before; these could be the same low, sparse hedges that snagged my skirts and the same mud that coated my boots. Except I know this isn't the right place. I will find no barn to shelter in here and no welcome around a farmhouse table.

Where is everyone? I have not come across a soul yet. Anyone will do, a farmer, a traveller, a coach driver or a pedlar. Anyone who can point me in the direction of the Bristol Road. I tramp onwards, wincing with every step. There is a copse ahead and a fine sycamore with just a scattering of golden leaves left on its branches. I make my way towards it and see there is a bed of sod and fallen leaves covering its roots. I fall onto it gratefully and lean back against the flaking trunk. I close my eyes and allow my breaths to slow. I had not realised I was so tired.

I am cold now that I have stopped walking. I left the Abode in such a hurry that I have not even a shawl with me. I rub my arms briskly. I won't stay here long. I have to get on. But I feel so heavy now; it is as though all the strength has seeped out of me and into the roots of the sycamore. Just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes  … 

I am in my meadow. It is more beautiful than ever. The grass is so green it hurts my eyes. Every blade of it slides across my bare legs like the finest gossamer. The sky is hushed and peaceful and never-ending. I turn around and around. The meadow is empty. But there is somebody here with me. I know that for a certainty. I look again – to the very edges of where the grass meets the sky. Nothing.
How odd
, I think. Then I feel something; the tiniest of movements, a fluttering of life. I hold my breath. It is coming from inside me. Whoever is with me in the meadow is deep inside of me, and the strangest thing is, I am not frightened by it at all.

There is a rumble and a clattering. My eyes fly open. Cartwheels are splashing through puddles and mud. I jump to my feet. The cart rolls on down the lane and I chase after it. There is a thick blanket stretched over the top of an assortment of furniture. I can see table legs and chair backs and the doors of a worm-eaten cabinet. ‘Stop!' I shout. I run as hard as I can with my skirts held up in one hand and the other hand waving in the air. ‘Stop!'

The cart slows and the tables and chairs knock together as the wheels jerk to a standstill. I dash to the front and crouched over the reins is a pock-marked old man buried in a weathered overcoat. Next to him is a woman with a scowl on her face and a battered bonnet on her head.

‘Whadda you want?' barks the man. His eyes have barely any colour to them and they slide over me, taking in my muddy boots and the wet hair that is sticking to my face.

‘Please,' I say. ‘I need to get to the Bristol Road. How far is it from here?'

‘Not too far,' grunts the man. He is staring at me in a way that makes me want to run back the way I came.

‘Are you going that way yourself?' I ask.

‘Yup,' he says. He is not making this easy for me.

‘Could you  …  would you mind  …  could I please come with you? I could squeeze in the back there. I won't damage anything, I promise.'

He screws his eyes up at me. ‘Can yer pay yer way?'

‘I'm sorry,' I say. ‘I can't. I have no money. I have nothing. But I would be so grateful if you would help me.'

‘No money, no ride,' he says and he clicks his tongue at the horse and takes up the reins.

‘No! Wait. Please!' I put my hand down the front of my bodice and pull out Papa's gold locket.

The man's eyes light up and he puts the reins back in his lap.

I unfasten the chain from around my neck and hold out the locket towards him. ‘Now will you take me to the Bristol Road?'

He nods and licks his lips. I push the locket into his outstretched hand. ‘One more thing,' I say. ‘I need to go to the milestone on the Bristol Road. The one that reads Bridgwater, fifteen miles. Do you know it?'

Again, the man nods. He tucks Papa's locket deep into his coat pocket. ‘Hop on, then,' he says.

I find a space between a dusty wooden trunk and a three-legged stool. It is comfortable enough. I can just see over the back of the cart as the lane stretches further and further behind us and I know in my heart that this is the most important journey I will ever make.
Thank you, Papa,
I whisper. But I think he knows already, and he will be glad that his gift has helped me on my way.

I stand by the milestone on the Bristol Road.
Bridgwater 15
is carved into its granite surface. There's the track that runs beside it. And a way up the track, if I squint my eyes, I can see a feathery whisper of smoke rising from the chimney of the farmhouse in the distance. Although I am tired to the bone, there is a wonderful lightness inside me now and I barely feel the blisters on my heels as I hurry as fast as I can along the track.

I know they will not turn me away.

I think of the strange dream I had under the sycamore tree and I put my hand to my belly. A curious warmth seeps through my fingers. Could it be true? A new life? Someone for me to truly love forever?

If it is true, I am not frightened. Because I know that where we are going they will not turn
us
away.